


An Albatross Around One's Neck

by DevinBourdain



Series: Ghosts of the Past [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Burden of command, Clint whump, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Protective Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevinBourdain/pseuds/DevinBourdain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being captured by the enemy was the start of their bad luck. Not only will Steve and Clint have to survive against the elements, but Steve will have to overcome personal demons as well, if they hope to live to fight another day. In the face of ice and snow, the burden of command might prove to be too much for the super soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Avengers characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.
> 
> Reviews are always welcome and appreciated

 

Steve and Clint sat glaring at each other from opposite sides of the plane's cargo hold. Both were ignoring the idol chat of their captors as the men joked about their success in the capture of two Avengers. Rogers knew Barton was pissed at him. When he had come to, restrained in the back of the plane, and saw the enemy beating on Clint for his smart mouth, he just reacted. In retrospect, he shouldn't have done it. It wasn't Steve's first day on the job and he knew that the archer was incurring their wrath to foster their overconfidence and probe them for information. Even knowing this, his anger got the better of him when a Hydra agent struck the archer. Steve had told Clint to knock it off. Ever since, Hawkeye's silent treatment had included everyone on the plane.

Steve wasn't sure how long he had been out but, judging by the bruising on Barton's face, it had been long enough. The team had been sent to investigate some odd sightings along the coast of the Hudson Bay. After setting up several observation posts, the team had happened upon a Hydra research camp. Iron Man and Thor had made short work of the sea creature the organization had been trying to create and the Hulk had seen to smashing the Hydra boats in the area. That left Captain America, Black Widow, and Hawkeye to deal with the troops on the ground. It had all been going well until Clint let out a frantic cry for Rogers to get out of the way.

Before Steve could process what Barton was telling him, the building behind him exploded. Rogers felt the force of the blast slam into him and send him tumbling. There was a blunt pain to the back of his head and then everything went dark. Based on his present surroundings, he could pretty much figure out what had happened next. From the snippets of conversation he did catch from the pilots, it sounded like only Barton and himself had been captured, a small bright spot in a potentially horrific situation.

There were three guards in the back with them and the two pilots up front. The odds were in their favour, but there was risk in engaging the enemy in such tight quarters. The guards had their weapons trained on both Avengers and any hostile move on either of their parts would probably see the other one shot. The Captain's second concern was their restraints. Steve's strength didn't seem to be having any impact on them and he wasn't as skilled at picking locks as the assassin was. Did Barton have anything available to him to pick the locks?

Whatever their play, they'd have to do it soon while the numbers were on their side. It sounded like they weren't that far from Hydra's base of operations in the region. Steve was attempting to signal Barton through the system of glares he had seen the archer and Black Widow share when an alarm from the cockpit started blaring.

Hawkeye perked up as he watched the flurry of activity. Even the guards in the back seemed to tense.

"You might want to think about grabbing a parachute," yelled the co-pilot.

"What about the prisoners?" asked the guard seated by Barton.

"Leave them," sneered the second guard as he moved to one of the storage compartments. The action was aborted as the plane started to spin violently.

The force of the spin pinned Steve against the wall with the third guard that had been beside him pressed tightly to his side. Across the compartment, Steve watched as Clint twisted his shoulders and triumphantly pulled his arms from behind his back. The archer punched out the guard next to him and pulled himself forward to the cockpit.

A horrible sense of panic swept over Steve as the full force of the alarms and downward momentum hit him at once. He found himself incapable of taking a breath. The plane shuddered around him and all he could see was the wide ocean and ice that he had flown over seventy years ago. He could feel the controls of the old Hydra plane beneath his fingers as if he was still there. Rogers shook his head to try and clear the memory, he couldn't stop the images looping before him.

Barton was yelling something, the words were lost in the roar of the engines and the screaming alarms. The plane tipped sharply to one side and Steve tumbled from his seat. Again, Clint was shouting something to him as the archer was desperately tried to save the plane.

"What?" yelled Steve failing to raise his voice enough for anyone to hear him. He swallowed and attempted to yell again, but the sound of twisting metal and shattering glass cut him off; then everything went black.

* * *

" _I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."_

 _"_ _Alright. A we_ _e_ _k, next Saturday, at the Stork Club."_

 _"_ _You got it."_

 _"_ _Eight o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late! Understood?"_

_"You know, I still don't know how to dance."_

_"I'll show you how. Just be there."_

_"You'll have the band play somethin' slow. I'd hate to step on your..."_

The harsh bite of northern wind curved the darkness that had enveloped Rogers. Rivers of agony poured over his body just underneath a numbing coldness blanketing him. Steve bolted up in terror, breath coming as panicked gasps. Watching the cold temperature turn it into white wisps before him did nothing to settle his nerves. He quickly brushed the snow off his legs and looked around at what was left of the plane. The cockpit was inaccessible from the cargo hold and the back of the plane had been ripped off, exposing it to the harsh arctic elements.

Steve wasn't sure how long he had been out or how long he sat staring at the frozen white terrain, but a foot of snow had settled in the plane and his hands were starting to tremble. When he had first awoken in this new century, he had longed for the people and time that he knew. He had been awake for a little over a year but sitting there facing a horrifically familiar situation, he discovered that he had gotten rather attached to the people he'd come to know. It pained him to think about waking up from this frozen nightmare to discover he had lost time again.

Alarm spread through him as he realized he had forgotten Barton. There had been no sign of the Hydra agents, so Rogers had just accepted the fact that he was alone again. It was awkward getting to his feet; his muscles were stiff and frozen. He shuffled to edge of the cargo hold and looked out into the desolate frozen wasteland before him.

As snow crunched under his foot, Steve tried desperately not to think about the all encompassing cold that had smothered him last time he crashed. He tried to ignore all the things he lost last time and prayed that not only had Clint survived the crash but that the archer hadn't froze to death while Steve had been trying to sooth his anxiety.

There was nothing but whiteness everywhere Steve looked. That would present its own survival challenges later. Steve took a deep breath and closed his eyes; one problem at a time. He circled around the wreckage trying to see if the cockpit was still intact.

The windows were smashed out and the metal was twisted and contorted but there was hope that someone could be alive in there. Steve stopped short. A body had been thrown from the plane and lay in the snow in front of him. He knelt and brushed the snow off with a trembling hand to get a better look. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. The frozen face staring lifelessly back at him was unfamiliar, not that of his teammate.

Rogers squeezed past the distorted metal and crawled into the cockpit. He placed his nearly frozen fingers against the pulse point of the pilot; nothing. Steve's eyes settled on a crumpled form tucked into the corner of the wreckage. He carefully turned the archer over; the man was so cold. He let out a silent prayer for his friend. Selfishly, Steve wasn't sure he could survive this alone.

Steve's waited with baited breath for his fingers to find the soft beat of Barton's pulse. Finding a much sought after sign of life, Rogers tapped Clint on the check. "Barton, can you open your eyes for me?"

A soft moan was the only response the super soldier received. Barton turned into the warm body that cradled his. It was difficult, but Steve managed to get his ailing teammate out of the cockpit and back into the cargo hold.

The wreckage had produced a lot of scrap material and Rogers was relieved to discover a survival pack as he searched the various compartments for anything useful. It took some doing but he eventually got a small fire going; at the very least, it would keep the icy grip of hypothermia from further claiming the archer.

Searching the plane wasn't difficult but it left Steve exhausted. Still, it was a fruitful endeavour; they now had two weather appropriate jackets, rations, gloves, hats, a survival pack, the archer's bow and quiver, and a parachute which Steve managed to secure over the opening of the cargo hold to keep the wind and snow out.

Steve laid next to Clint offering him the extra warmth that his super metabolism produced and pulled both jackets over them. There was nothing left to do but wait for some sign of consciousness from Barton. Then, they would have to figure out their next move.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve felt himself swimming just below consciousness. A feeling of dread was blooming deep within. Flashes of Hydra soldiers danced in his head. There had been a plane crash and the enemy had him and... cold hands clamped down on Rogers' shoulder. Steve clenched his fist and slammed it into his captor's face. He felt the satisfying impact followed by a loud thud as his adversary hit the ground. Opening his eyes, he rolled to his knees ready to continue the fight.

"Damn it, Cap!" snarled Clint as he picked himself up off the ground. He rubbed his tender jaw; that was definitely going to leave a mark.

"Barton?" His voice was rough but it didn't hide his disbelief. The Captain rubbed his eyes; he was dreaming but which part, 1945 or 2013?

"Are you alright? You were tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep." The archer moved his jaw around making sure there was no serious damage other than his pride. He scooted a bit closer to the fire and sat cross-legged.

"Yeah I'm fine." A light blush crawled up his ears. Steve was pretty sure he was supposed to be asking Barton that very question. The unwavering scrutiny from his friend didn't help. "I'm _fine_!"

Clint snorted and turned his attention to the small fire. He rubbed his hands together and placed them closer to the flames. He didn't think he would ever get warm again. The bleak surroundings when he had come to had been discouraging to say the least. Putting aside the obvious obstacles, the archer knew all too well what it was like to face one's nightmares. He could only imagine what was running through Steve's head. It was disconcerting to wake up with Captain America in the throes of a nightmare; even after his rather painful reward for trying to ease the other man's terror, Clint still felt bad for him.

Everyone on the team came with a hefty amount of baggage, but Rogers' was the most transparent. Not only was there the seventy-year cultural and information gap, but Steve had to deal with the fact that he lost consciousness in one world and woke up in another what seemed like moments later. The frozen wasteland of the arctic had ripped everyone and everything away from him once. If they couldn't figure a way out of there, it looked like it would do it again.

Steve's pounding heart settled slightly as the fog cleared from his head. It had been months since the hope that he'd wake up to Peggy at his bedside telling him it had all been a dream had been that strong. Sitting there watching Barton tremble from the cold despite the jacket cemented the realization that this was reality, no matter how strange his life had become.

"Are _you_ alright?" asked Steve.

"Who doesn't love the cold?" They sat for a few minutes in silence trying to absorb every bit of warmth the meagre fire was spitting out. "We need a plan, Cap. We're running out of burnable things here."

"Any idea where we are?"

"Halfway between civilization and the Hydra base if their instruments were correct before the crash." It was pretty much the worst spot they could be in.

That wasn't what Steve wanted to hear but, then again, when did anything go in their favour? "What about sending a distress call? Maybe let the team know where we are?"

"Maybe." Clint eyed the mangled metal that blocked access to the cockpit from the cargo hold. Pulling the zipper on his jacket all the way up, he got to his feet. "I take it it's accessible from the outside?"

Rogers nodded as Barton made his way into the snow, listening to Hawkeye's muffled curses from the other side of the wreckage. It was another reminder of how useless he was in this day and age. Steve's lack of technological knowhow, despite Stark's lessons and Bruce's more earnest efforts, was still firmly in place; most of the technobabble still went over his head. Attempting to get a transmitter working was well beyond his skill, so Steve put an additional piece of wreckage on the fire.

Clint pried another cold metal plate away from the consol. The hopeless jumble of wires was fried beyond use, compounded by the fact that there was no power to run anything. He let out an exasperated sigh as their best option for survival evaporated. After weaselling his way out of the cockpit, he joined a very dejected looking Captain America. The flicker of concern Barton felt at Rogers' frantic wakening caught fire. The last thing he needed was their only real hope of getting out of there having a full blown meltdown. He'd seen it on the faces of his colleagues before, the fear of having to relive their worst nightmare.

"You gonna to be okay, Steve?"

"What? Oh yeah, I'm fine... it's... I'm good." Rogers felt his friend's scrutiny upon him. Really, he should be making sure Hawkeye was alright; it was his job to look after the people in his command. He forced a smile. Frozen wastelands foretold disaster; he desperately hoped this time would be different.

Barton bit his tongue; calling Steve a liar would just rekindle earlier hostilities. Their relationship always seemed to be very hit or miss, leaning more towards the miss side than not. He sat down next to the fire and tried to chase the chill away. "You want the bad news or the really bad news?" Rogers raised an eyebrow. "We can't send a signal to the team. We're on our own."

"Were you able to figure out where we are?"

The archer shook his head. "From what I saw on the computer before we crashed, we're closer to the Hydra base than anything else. We can either wait here, hope Hydra looks for their people or we can walk out. Take our chances and head south, hope we stumble across a village or something, or head north and hope we trip over the base."

"Neither option sounds like it'll have a high success rate. Without an exact location, we'd be wandering aimlessly. Not the kind of weather to go for a stroll in."

"We could wait here and hope for the best," offered Barton. He had run over his odds already and, no matter what they did, he was pretty much screwed. Anything they tried would be for Steve's benefit.

"No, you were right; if we stay, we're going to freeze." It was a hell of a choice; walk into the hands of the enemy or try for civilization, if they survived the walk at all. Steve looked at Clint; he was pale and trying very hard to hide the fact that he was shivering. Would it be better to take their chances with Hydra?

Captain America held his teammate's life in his hands. Barton was looking to him to make the call and Steve had no viable options. Freeze to death or survive the trek to die at the hands of the enemy? Their makeshift shelter was silent as Rogers painstakingly weighed all the possibilities. Every time he tried to put together a course of action he thought of Bucky. His best friend had depended on Rogers to keep him safe and Steve had failed spectacularly; now, Barton was the one depending on his leadership.

"We head towards the Hydra base," ordered Rogers. "They might be looking for their people. If so, they'll pick us up. It may be the enemy but they have food and shelter. If we get lucky, they'll have a radio and we can get a message to the team. If not, it will be easier for the SHIELD to find the base than the wreckage or us wandering around." His face was solemn. Both men knew it probably wouldn't end well.

Clint had seen what the burden of command did to good people. Choices like this one were never easy but they had to be made. Steve was right. Hydra would take them in. Captain America would be their prize; they'd probably contact the team themselves to gloat about their find. The Avengers would come and Steve would get rescued. Barton just had to make sure Steve got that far; whatever happened to him wasn't as important as getting their leader out of this situation. "Alright, Cap, let's do it."


	3. Chapter 3

Steve crammed everything he could into the survival pack and swung it over his shoulder. He blew out a deep breath and watched it float through the desolate space in white wisps. The wreckage didn't offer them much but Rogers paused before exiting, taking one last moment to reconsider their course of action. In every corner he looked, the only thing he saw was Barton freezing to death. The nauseous feeling grew and panic started to flare in his chest as he thought of all the possible ways he could get his friend killed.

"You coming, Cap?" called Clint from outside the plane.

"Yeah!" sputtered Steve, digging his nails into the palm of his hand to bring himself back to reality. He closed his eyes and repeated the mantra _you can do this_ in his head several times. Putting his game face firmly in place, he stepped out into the bitter cold.

"I left Natasha a message in case the team does find the plane. She'll know where we went," explained Hawkeye as he pointed to the underside of one of the wings.

Steve looked at the black scrawled lettering. "Vientiane?"

"Short version, a mission that went south. I would have died if Nat didn't turn us in to the enemy," offered the archer with a shrug. "She'll know what it means."

Rogers nodded. Anything that put the odds more in their favor was a good idea. "Ready?"

Clint looked at the barren land before them. It wasn't particularly how he wanted to go, but there were more painful ways to die and there was always the ridiculous possibility that the golden horseshoe Romanoff always joked was up his ass would see him through this impossible task too. "It'll be fun. Some people pay a lot of money to go hiking through the wilderness, right?"

* * *

Steve focused on the crunch of the snow and howl of the wind instead of the bitter coldness that was biting at his heals like a rabid dog. While the winter jackets they had found in the cargo hold looked thick and warm, they were proving virtually ineffective now that they were being tested against the elements. The harsh wind stung his face and he bowed his head to try and hide as much skin as possible in the collar of his coat.

The last time he felt winter's cold sting and heard its primal howl, he was balancing on the roof of a train as it sped through the winding mountains. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the swaying of the car underneath his feet. Rogers' heart started to pound…yet another example of someone he'd failed. Bucky had put his faith in Captain America, to be the leader, to keep everyone safe, and Steve let him down. All of his super abilities, and he couldn't save his friend.

His musings were interrupted as he tripped over Barton. Both men tumbled into the snow, a tangle of limbs and curses. Steve righted himself first, dusting the clumps of snow from his jacket and hair. He could see, then, why Barton had stopped. They'd come to a gorge about thirty feet across. Not something they could just jump across. An apologetic grimace passed over his face as he offered a hand to his teammate, who had yet to get to his feet.

Clint placed an ice cold hand in the blonde's and grunted as Rogers pulled him up. His free hand shot to cover his side protectively as the archer tried to hide the flash of pain that crossed his face.

The Captain had to swallow hard to keep the rising guilt down. He could survive a plane crash without a scratch, but what he should have been paying more attention to was the undeniably human Avenger who was far less likely to walk away from danger unharmed. "Why didn't you say anything?" asked Steve, the words coming out harsher than he meant them to.

Barton rolled his eyes and let out a shaky breath. "Would it have made a difference, Cap? They're bruised, nothing you can do to change that. We have to keep moving, so my comfort level isn't really important, is it?"

"That's not the point! You get hurt Barton and you never tell us. If you're not at a hundred percent and we don't know that, then you put the rest of the team at risk." They seemed to have the same fights over and over. The archer pushed himself well beyond his means in some bid for self-destruction, like he had something to prove to everyone else.

Hawkeye's glare darkened and his stance became defensive. "Look," he spat, "I'm sorry having some weak, fragile human on the team is cramping your style, but I don't need a babysitter and, like it or not, we're in this situation together. Babying me isn't going to get us out of it."

"That's not what I'm doing!" Steve's voice echoed off the packed snow as he let out a huff. His chest was mere inches away from Barton's. Both men were locked in an icy stare, neither one willing to be the first to back down.

"It damn well is and you know it," the archer snarled before whipping around to take several angry steps away from Rogers. The desire to punctuate his point was too powerful, but he was still clearheaded enough to realize punching out Captain America was not going to be his finest moment. His adrenaline was pumping and the need to move was twisting at his muscles. He spun around. "You never second guess Thor, you let Tony do whatever the hell he wants, you don't treat Natasha like glass; for God's sake, you don't keep as close a tab on the Hulk as you do me, so what is it? Why am I the weak link for you?"

Steve snapped, "It's my job to make sure our weaknesses aren't exposed to the enemy, to make sure everyone is playing to their full potential, and you keep playing as if you're on your own." He was seeing red. This was just one more person calling everything he had done into question. It was hard enough to make decisions without having to consider how everyone was judging him for them, especially when they didn't judge him properly for them.

Clint flinched as if the words had been a physical blow. After everything he had survived in his life, hell in the last year and a half, he was still perceived as the chink in the Avengers' armor. It was one thing to think it, to believe it, but it was another thing to hear it from the lips of someone he had started to admire. Not willing to let the wound show, he turned to face the direction he had been looking before Steve had bulled him over. He took a tentative step forward and peered over the edge of the cliff face. "We need to find a way across this if we're going to keep going."

Barton did a good job of covering it, but Steve could still see the signs of defeat in the man. He didn't mean what he said. The words came out all wrong and jumbled, but Clint heard what he wanted and Steve would have to do damage control when they weren't turning blue. Rogers moved closer to the edge and looked at the drop. It wasn't a bottomless pit, but it was far enough to do some damage if either of them fell. The rock was covered in snow and ice and the rough edges of the cliff face had long worn too smooth to safely climb down on this side. A sickly grey tree trunk snaked its way across the precipice to the other side.

Both men stared at the fallen tree trying to access its usefulness. "Could be our only way across," offered Clint in a more reasonable tone than their previously heated words had generated. "More importantly, it's going to be the fastest. We could follow the cliff, see if there's another place to cross, but that's going to take time and energy we don't have."

"It doesn't look that safe." Steve eyed the decaying wood as if staring at it would fortify it. "That tree might not hold us and that's a hell of a long way down."

Clint pulled his bow free from his quiver and snapped it open. "We'll use my line. I can hit that tree with the grappling arrow," he said as he pointed towards the more sturdy looking pine on the other side then turned to one of the more spindly trees on their side, "and tie it off here. Be like walking across a bridge,"

"Uh-hum." The blond played out all the scenarios in his mind. "I'm going first."

Clint opened his mouth to protest. Whoever went first would be testing it out. If it didn't hold, it wasn't going to be pretty. Soldiers took the risk so their leaders would be safe and, no matter Steve's personal or professional feelings towards him, Barton wasn't going to let their leader risk his life pointlessly.

"Look, I'm heavier than you. If I make it across, then we know you can. If I don't, I'll fair better in the fall than you. That's an order."

Knowing he wasn't going to win, Hawkeye shrugged him off with a 'whatever' that was as bitter as the cold surrounding them. Pulling the desired arrow he lined up his shot and focused on his breathing. It took all of his concentration to block out the tremble in his arms and the numbing cold plaguing his fingers. He pulled in a steady breath despite the way the frigid air burned his lungs and released the arrow. It embedded in the tree with a satisfying thwack.

Steve ran his fingers over the taut line after it had been secured and tentatively put one foot on the log. Shifting his weight forward, he tested the sturdiness then gripped the line a little more tightly than necessary then put his other foot on their bridge. His muscles tightened, his stomach fluttered but he pressed forward, one agonizingly slow step at a time. Solid ground could not come soon enough. He resisted the urge to bend over and kiss it when he made it across.

"Your turn, Barton," called Rogers. He could see Clint tremble slightly, but knew it had nothing to do with the task at hand. The Captain was resisting the urge to let his teeth chatter. He could only imagine just how cold his teammate was.

Wrapping his numb hands around the line, the archer pulled himself onto the tree trunk. One foot in front of the other, it was reminiscent of walking across the high wire. An ominous groan preceded the small shift of the log lowering as the middle began to give way. Steve's shouts of warning were drowned out by the pounding of Barton's heart. He was frozen in place, not daring to so much as breathe for fear it would cause the tree to split completely and tumble into the uninviting cavern below.

It did no good as the long decaying wood gave out one last cry before snapping and tumbling down below. Clint let out a sharp hiss as his hands tightened painfully around the rope and his bruised ribs violently opposed the swift movement of kicking his feet up to wrap around the line. He could feel his arms spasming as he painstakingly began to go hand over hand, pulling himself along the line to try and reach the safety of the other side.

"Clint!" Steve felt like his heart was beating out of his chest. He stood uselessly on the edge watching and praying that the archer had the strength to make it across. He stretched his arm out as far as he could, hoping to latch onto something solid, something real, the second Barton came within reach. "That's it, hand over hand. You can do this, Clint."

The fiery agony that washed through Hawkeye would have been a welcome relief from the numbing cold if it wasn't such a hindrance. The wind ran its frozen fingers over the suspended man, clawing and scratching at every inch of exposed skin. He would have sworn the gap had stretched to a few thousand feet across judging by how far safety seemed to be every time he locked eyes with the distressed Rogers.

Captain America's outstretched hand was almost within reach when the line went slack and the grappling hook slipped out of the bark it had bitten into. Clint's iron grip on the line didn't release when the world dropped out from under him. The other end of the line held and the archer ended up slamming into the rock face with a resounding thud. The jarring caused his hand to slip; the rope burned against his hand.

Rogers almost leaped off the ledge as he watched his teammate swing across the gap and slam into the rock. He did feel his stomach drop as he collapsed to his knees, releasing a guttural howl as the archer lost his grip and dropped the remaining twenty feet down. "Clint!"


	4. Chapter 4

It was a good thing that Steve was superhuman because if he wasn't, he was pretty sure his heart would've beat right of his chest. His legs trembled, but somehow he remained standing precariously perched at the edge of the cliff. He needed to get down there; he had to save Bucky. Rogers gave his head a shake. Barton, he had to see if _Barton_ was still alive. Plans started to formulate in his head, but he brushed each one off. They required too much time… time the archer didn't have.

Captain America stared at the rocky cliff face and sucked in a painful breath, the cold air biting at his lungs. He'd have to take a play out of the Stark/Barton book of unreasonably reckless actions. Trying not to over think what he was about to do, he began the dangerous task of scaling down the trench. The mantra of ' _have to get to Barton'_ cancelled out the little voice that screamed ' _this is a_ _terrible,_ _foolhardy idea.'_

The rock was freezing and sucked away the miniscule amount of warmth that his fingers had. The death grip he kept on the hand holds he managed to find only caused his numb fingers to cramp and slip, making the already treacherous journey all the more dangerous. If Steve fell, if he injured himself, then he would be no help to Hawkeye if by some miracle the man was still alive when the Captain made it to the bottom.

Steve closed his eyes to clear the memories of Bucky falling from the train all those years ago. He had to fight down the bile that threatened to rise at the thought of failing again. He'd been so sure he wanted to be useful when he agreed to be a part of the experiment; he knew he could make a difference once he became Captain America, but after he started losing people, losing friends...what right did he have to lead the Avengers? His list of mistakes was growing and the closer he got to his teammates, the harder it was becoming to give them orders that put them in harm's way. He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn't been pulling away lately, that he hadn't gone out of his way to keep from getting close to the two very human assassins on the team. They were too vulnerable compared to the others and yet their skill set demanded they be put in the greatest amount of danger.

His feet finally found the ground, but Rogers couldn't bring himself to turn around and face what might be laying in wait for him. He felt the scared, frail child that he used to be rise up, begging the strong, fearless leader he'd become to run away and spare Steve the horror of having to look upon another body that had mistakenly put its trust in him.

"That you, Cap, or did I hit my head harder than I thought?" The words were a pained whisper on the wind, but Steve was able to gain enough control over himself to hear them as Barton's and not Bucky's.

"Clint!" Rushing to the injured man's side, Steve began to brush away the snow that had started to pile on Clint. Red flecks of blood decorated the pristine white snow, but the cuts and gashes on his teammate seemed relatively tame considering the fall he had taken. Hawkeye's shoulder was clearly dislocated and the smaller man was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. Steve looked at the disturbed snow where the archer had landed and the distance he managed to crawl to where he was heaped now, before glancing at the top of the cliff again. "How the hell did you survive that?

Clint hid a sharp gasp behind a chuckle as Rogers manoeuvred him to lean against his chest. "Circus career, 'member? You get good at falling… 'sides… a nice tree branch halfway down helped break my fall."

"You need to keep your eyes open," said Steve. The words were gentle despite the clear order that lay underneath.

"Jus' gonna close 'em for a min…ute. S'okay, I'll be good to go after that," mumbled the archer. His head kept slumping forward and snapping back up.

"Yeah," Rogers sighed, wrapping one hand around Barton's arm and placing the other on his shoulder. In one swift motion, he popped the limb back into place.

"Aghhhhh, god!" Barton's scream echoed through the valley. Breathless and in agony, he made a feeble attempt to curl into a fetal position, but Captain America's strong arms held him tight as he rode out the waves of pain.

"Do you think you can get up?" Steve asked when he felt the last of the spasms run through his friend's body. He didn't have a vast knowledge of first aid. For all he knew, Barton was slowly bleeding to death from internal injuries, but based on what he could see and diagnose, there were no broken bones (at least none that were protruding from his skin). Perhaps fortune would smile on them and Hawkeye would be able to make it out of there.

Clint rasped, "Sure, why not?" Every inch of him hurt fiercely, but Rogers needed him to do something. Maybe if he could just find away to make the man happy, he might let Clint rest.

Barton managed to get to a more vertical position, though Steve did all of the work. Once the Captain let go and the archer put his full weight on his right knee, it screamed and buckled in protest. He was a puddle in the snow and no position seemed to dull the ache that was now awake in his knee. Steve was at his side in a flash, hands moving around desperately trying to find a way to help, but everything he did only added agony to the throb that consumed Hawkeye.

"You should leave," hissed Clint.

"What?"

"I'm not going to make it out of here, Cap. You still have a chance…"

Steve could see the desperation in his teammate's eyes and the conviction in the words he spoke. Tony Stark, one of the most self-obsessed people he had ever known, had been able to nail Barton right on, so why hadn't he seen the archer's self-sacrificing tendencies for all that they were? "Shut up, Barton. We're getting out of here together or not at all."

"Can't move, Steve. Never be able to walk to that base. 'Sides… 'nly a matter of time fore the cold gets me."

"I'll carry you if I have to, but I'm not leaving you," argued the blond as his eyes darted across the landscape looking for anything he could use to help him. His fellow Avenger wasn't wrong about not being able to survive the cold. Even if he was at a hundred percent, his chances of survival were slim. Circumstances now practically spelled death.

"We might not have to walk out of here just yet," he added as his eyes locked onto a small cave in the cliff face. It would only buy them a little bit of time, but if he could warm the archer up, get some food and liquid into him, it might go a long way to keeping Barton alive for the team to find them. "Come on," said the Captain as he scooped up the smaller man and began to trudge towards the cave.


	5. Chapter 5

The match hissed as it slid across the striker. Steve silently prayed that the branches he collected would catch. It took five tries and a lot of smoke, but eventually little flames poked their heads through the pine needles. He held his hands out in front of the growing fire and soaked in as much warmth as possible; the heat felt heavenly against his frozen hands.

A shuffling sound behind Rogers pulled his attention back to his teammate; Barton was attempting to wrestle his way out of his jacket. The scene would almost be comical, like those videos of kittens on the Internet that Bruce showed him, if it didn't have such serious consequences. "What are you doing, Barton?"

"I have to… have to… 'm warm, Cap… need to, I have to get this off," stammered Clint. It seemed to take an extraordinary amount of effort just to get the words out, but he didn't stop in his efforts to remove the only thing that was shielding him from the elements.

"You're not hot and you need to keep your jacket on," scolded Steve with a bit of edge in his voice. With all of their problems mounting, he didn't need whatever this was and found it hard to keep his irritation out of his voice.

Clint winced in pain from his squirming, but continued trying to get his numb fingers to latch onto the zipper. He had to get the jacket off; it was too restricting. How was he supposed to defend himself if he couldn't move? Not only was it suffocating, but it was also messing with his senses; his fingers weren't responding to any of his commands properly and he was feeling warm and light-headed. Flickers of panic ran across his face as his struggle proved useless. He failed to notice Rogers crawl over to him.

Steve clamped a large hand down over the archer's shaking ones. "Leave your coat on. You'll freeze to death if you take it off."

Clint let out a startled gasp and pulled away from Rogers. His eyes were wild as the unfamiliar look of panic gripped him. Hawkeye tried to scramble away; he had to escape this enemy before they caused him any more pain, but the moment he put weight on his injured knee he crumpled in an undignified heap on the cave floor.

Steve stopped short at the sight of someone that always seemed so strong and determined cowering and sobbing in the corner. He'd seen Clint in many situations, exhausted, injured, afraid, hopeless, and begging for someone to kill him so he wouldn't hurt his friends, but this was raw, unguarded and exposed in a way that the archer never let anyone see no matter the situation. Steve's stomach started to protest the all encompassing helplessness growing within him. He racked his brain trying to figure out what had caused the sudden break and if he could do anything to sooth the ailing man.

"Jus 'top. No more, _please_ ," begged the archer as he felt someone approach.

"Clint," began the blond as he placed a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. That turned out to be the wrong move; the second Hawkeye felt the touch he turned and began to swing wildly at Steve. There wasn't a lot of power behind the blows and the Captain was able to pin down the smaller man before he exacerbated his injuries further, though Clint still tried to squirm free.

"Get the hell off of me, you asshole!" hissed Barton trying desperately to knock the solid mass off of him.

"Clint, calm down," tried Steve, but his teammate continued his useless struggles as though he didn't hear him. "Agent Barton, that's enough!"

It was almost eerie how quickly the archer stilled. Rogers didn't dare move a muscle, not sure what to expect next.

The words echoed in Clint's head, penetrating the thick fog that settled and muddled everything up. It was Steve's voice, but he hadn't been with Barton in Bogota. Then again, he was too cold to be anywhere in Columbia. Everything was jumbled and framed with pain and coldness.

A tentative, "Steve?" ripped through the calmness of the cave and the Captain could feel some of the tension within Barton fade away, leaving only the minute tremors that had plagued them both from being trapped in the frozen wasteland.

"Yeah," Steve replied as he got off of Clint. The confusion was apparent in brunette's eyes. "Do you know where you are Barton?" the Captain asked hesitantly.

"No… maybe… I don't know… 's really cold, Cap."

The little needles of fear were poking at Steve again; was the archer's condition deteriorating or did he suffer some sort of head trauma when he fell down the cliff? "Let's get you next to the fire. That'll warm you up a bit."

Rogers practically carried the smaller man over to the fire and deposited him in front of it as gently as he could. He ran his hands up and down his arms to try and warm them up, then realized if he was feeling the cold this bad through the marginally thick jackets they'd obtained, the archer must have it far worse. Clint didn't have super serum running through him to help maintain body heat, not to mention that Steve ran a little warmer than regular people to start with thanks to his metabolism.

"It's the cold, you know," mumbled Barton as he continued to fumble with his jacket's zipper.

"Leave your coat on, Barton," ordered Steve as he handed Clint a granola bar from his pack. "What's the cold?"

"It messes with your head, makes you do crazy things til you lay down and die." The exhaustion in his subdued tone was hard to miss. His earlier struggle had zapped a lot of his energy and that all consuming need to lie down had him in a strangle hold.

"You need to stay awake, you hear me!"

Sitting up a little straighter at the command, Clint forced his eyes open. "Yes sir."

"Tell me a story."

"A story huh?" slurred Hawkeye.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, a story. It will help you stay awake."

"Bout… bout what, Barney?"

Barney was a name Steve had only ever heard in passing and mostly out of Natasha's mouth. From what the rest of the team had pieced together, it sounded like Barney was the archer's older brother, though based on the context and tone in which the man's name was normally spoken, it didn't sound like their relationship had been a particularly good one. "Clint?"

" _Steve_ ," he corrected, "story bout what?"

Aiming for something that should be positive, Rogers suggested, "how about your childhood?" Judging by the grimace that passed over Clint's face, the archer's heartache started young.

"Freakin Greek tragedy, Cap."

"What about how you met Natasha?" Captain America supplied.

"Tried to kill her." Barton paused for a moment to ponder that point. "Seems to be the way I meet most of my friends. Sure the psych department would have a field day with that."

The blond had to concede that point; Hawkeye had been playing for the team that was bent on killing the Avengers, even though it hadn't exactly been his choice. Steve was surprised to hear he had tried to kill Natasha; she didn't seem like the type to get over something like that, but based on the relationship they had before she left, she was definitely closer with Clint than anyone.

"You need to leave, Steve."

"You keep saying that. What makes you think I would leave you alone, let alone should?"

"Not worth it, not a good person. You can make it if you go now."

This was exactly why he had been pulling away from the team lately, especially Romanoff and Barton. They were both so human and fragile and willing to lay their lives down for the team without any regard for themselves or those that would be left behind to pick up the pieces. They weren't the only ones that thought stepping in front of a bullet for him was a good idea. Bucky, the Howling Commandoes, and countless other troops during the war all believed that Steve had all the answers, that he was more valuable than any of them. He had lost so many people before; he couldn't bear being the one the two assassins laid down their lives for or, worse yet, the one to order them to their deaths. He just couldn't take the loss again and, as a result, had kept the Avengers at a distance especially Black Widow and Hawkeye.

"I'm not better or worse than you, Barton," insisted Rogers.

Clint snorted. "You know why Coulson liked you so much?"

Steve was taken aback by the question. The two SHIELD agents on the team rarely spoke of the man after his funeral; it was an unwritten rule around the tower. The others mentioned him in passing; they all wanted to better know the man that had rallied them together, but the subject always seem too painful for Clint and Natasha. "He was an idealist?"

"Nah… well yes, but he liked you because he said he liked how you stood up for what's right without playing dirty. You're not dumb, Steve. You could have shown up those bullies playing dirty but you took the high ground." As an afterthought he added in a whisper, "Don't play in the mud with the rest of us, Cap."

"I'm not that great, Clint. If I was any good at this leader thing, my best friend wouldn't have died, we wouldn't be in this situation and you wouldn't be freezing to death." It felt good to get that confession off his chest. Everyone always looked to Captain America to have the answers and back in the day he could almost forge his way through. But here, in this new century, it was getting harder to fake.

"Everything that doesn't work out in the universe is not your fault. You are not responsible for me, Steve."

"Ever think of taking your own advice? You're not as broken as you believe you are."

"Sometimes something is too broken to fix. Not everyone is salvageable." The words flowed off of Clint's lips with an all too personal conviction as though they were the truest words ever spoken. The archer offered a self deprecating smile as he caught Rogers' concerned look.

"Do you feel that way about the rest of the team? Because in case you haven't noticed, we are one big group of issues."

"Natasha is salvageable because she never had a chance before, but when she was offered one she took it without hesitation. Tony is salvageable because he saw the error of his ways and refuses to go back to them."

"How could anything you've done be worse than anything Tony did?" asked Steve hesitantly. Stark embodied every morally questionable act Rogers could dream up, but under all that swagger he had a decent heart. Did he really want to know if Barton had something that was going to make the former arms dealer and playboy look like a saint?

"The wrong thing done for the right reasons is better than the wrong thing done for the wrong reasons."

"Barton, if I've learned anything these last eighteen months, it's not only that you're a good man but, more importantly, that you help people. If you insist that the rest of the team is worth saving, then either we all are or we all aren't; what matters is what you do now, not what you did then." The Captain's further reassurance was interrupted by the distinctive click of safeties switching off. The cold must have been affecting them more than they realized if the cave could fill up with a contingent of Hydra soldiers without them noticing it.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve tried to keep an eye on Clint as the soldiers manhandled him into a set of cuffs. The muffled moans from the archer at his rough handling fuelled Rogers' desire to fight but his head managed to win out. They needed Hydra and taking out a few of their men wasn't going to garner them any favors. He forced himself to turn around and let the enemy agents cuff him without resistance.

Through the flurry of guards, the blond locked eyes with a familiar set; one of the guards from the plane was there. The guard gave him a sickening smile as he moved further into the cave towards Barton.

"How's that smart mouth of yours working for you now?" sneered the guard as he delivered a vicious kick to Hawkeye's side. The man groaned and rolled with the blow, coming to lay against the wall, unable to get to his feet.

It was the worst kind of bully, the guy who was willing to pick on someone unable to protect himself. Steve's blood boiled. "Leave him alone! Can't you see that he's hurt? He's no threat to any of you!" cried Captain America as he pulled against his restraints.

One of the lieutenants placed a hand on the guard's shoulder as he pulled his leg back to kick the archer again. The whispered words were muddled with an accent so thick that Steve couldn't decipher them, but after the brief conversation the guard stormed out of the cave.

Rogers wanted to see to his friend and make sure there were no further injuries that needed tending, but he was yanked out of the cave. He could hear the pitiful protests Clint made at being manhandled and knew that he had fallen in line somewhere behind him. The harshness of the wind was just as strong as he remembered. A shiver that had been warded off from their small fire ran through him.

The convoy line snaked through the valley wading through the chilling white snow. Steve could only look longingly at the extra thick jackets that the soldiers wore and put one foot in front of the other; hopefully they would be inside the warm confines of the Hydra base soon. He hazarded a glance back to see if he could catch a glimpse of Barton's progress.

Clint continued to hobble along, trying his best to ignore the pain. It was slow going and he could barely put any weight on his knee. Every time he paused to catch his breath, the guard behind him would push him forward. The simple thought of putting an arrow in the man gave the archer enough of a push to keep fumbling along.

The snow sank beneath Barton's foot, jarring him to the side; the shift caused him to stumble. He knew the moment he made the mistake of stepping onto his right foot. Pain lanced up his leg and he fell to the ground face first, snow covering his nose and mouth. Panic set in as every attempt to suck in a breath just pulled in more snow. Clint's arms flailed, trying to find purchase to right himself.

The guard rolled his eyes and gripped his rifle tighter. Having to escort a pain in the ass back to base in the cold was not what he wanted to do with his day. Needing a release for the frustration that had been building since the orders to search for the prisoners came in, he slammed the butt of the rifle into the man's shoulder, turning him over.

Clint gratefully gulped in mouthfuls of air, ignoring the way it burned his throat and sent a chill through his bones. He clutched his knee to his chest in a desperate bid to try to ease the pain. He swallowed thickly before attempting to implement his training to dull the sharp spasms of agony shooting up his leg. He needed to focus on the situation at hand. It was no use though. He was too cold, too tired and in too much pain.

"I said get up!" The guard slammed the rifle down again to punctuate his point when Clint failed to make it to his feet. Barton pulled his aching body into a tight ball, covering his head to minimize the blows raining down on him.

Rogers couldn't contain his outrage any more. "Leave him alone!" He shrugged off the hands that tried to hold him back and ran towards his teammate. With hands still bound together, he managed to push the guard off of Barton and kneeled down next to the archer.

"Clint! Look at me, Clint." His hands desperately ran over the downed man in the hope of getting him to uncurl. Grey eyes peered out through a tangle of limbs and locked with Steve's. Rogers bit his tongue to stop himself from apologising, the words desperate to pour off his lips; it was his job to protect the team and looking at the beaten and broken soul before him, he knew he was failing. He could sense the circle of Hydra agents that had gathered around them and gave the smaller man's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing up to face the commander.

"I think your friend is done, Captain," offered the middle-aged man in a heavy German accent. "I think he might be more trouble than he's worth and can't fathom why I would take the risk of slowing down in this weather to accommodate him."

"He'll make it, just lay off him," protested Steve with more force than he meant to use.

"I don't think you are in a position to have a say. It would be better for me and my men if we just leave him here. Perhaps it would be kinder to him as well?"

"You can't just leave him out here to freeze to death!" His eyes flickered from the commander to Barton who was still curled on the ground. "Please."

"I'm not going to burden my men with having to carry him. In a choice between one of you and one of us, I will choose us." Despite the man's steadfast belief in what he was saying, there was still a sympathetic twinkle in his eye.

"I'll carry him." The frantic desperation he felt was too hard to keep from his voice.

"I'm not untying you."

"I'll manage," promised Steve.

The commander thought over the offer then nodded his acceptance. "Sir!" the guard protested.

"We have nothing to lose and everything to gain." He turned back to Rogers, "Make no mistake. If you fall behind or slow us down, I will leave him here to die and shoot you in the shoulder for the sheer pleasure of it. Am I clear?"

Captain America nodded and knelt beside Clint. "I need you to help me," he said as he tried to manoeuvre both of them into a position he could pick the smaller man up from.

"Cap…"

"I don't want to hear it, Barton. Now, if you can, bend your knee and slip your leg through my arms." It was awkward and uncomfortable, but Steve managed to get the archer over his shoulder. He tried to ignore the way Clint nuzzled his face into Rogers' jacket to muffle his cries; his injured ribs would be protesting violently, but Steve couldn't think of another way to carry the man with their arms bound. With a slightly faster pace, they continued on towards the base.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve paced the confines of his tiny cell trying not to enjoy the warmth as much as he did. The extra blankets that had been thrown in when he arrived were heavenly and, despite all the worries weighing on his mind, Rogers had drifted off to sleep in a cocoon of warmth. Tremors had wracked his body to the point that he didn't feel he would ever get warm again, but accepting the small hospitality when the archer might not have the same luxury seemed like a betrayal of the worst kind. He had hoped that, upon waking, Clint would be in the cell with him or at the very least in one next to him, but the row of gloomy cages was still empty.

It wasn't in his nature to give up, the commander's words running through his head. _P_ _erhaps it would be kinder to him as well?_ The implications weren't anything he wanted to think about; the number of horrors that could be befalling his friend at that moment was too horrible to consider. Steve collapsed to his knees and began to heave. With a trembling hand, he wiped his mouth and leaned against the wall. He stared at the cot covered in warm, thick, inviting blankets with disdain. If he wasn't sure what kind of treatment his teammate was receiving, he wasn't going to partake in any further kindness offered.

The hours passed painfully slowly, one soul-crushing moment at a time. The only thing to keep him company was the sound of his own breath and the creak of the dilapidated pipe that ran overhead. It took longer than Steve would ever want to admit for the voices to penetrate the numb state he had fallen into. The words were just whispers about nothing, but as they worked their way into his brain, the casual conversation turned to a more relevant topic. Rogers had to strain to hear the conversation echoing down the old pipe.

Like most things involving the twenty-first century, the techno-babble was over the Captain's head; the gist of it seemed to involve a cloaking device, the Avengers' jet, a next gen missile and never knowing what hit them, painting a pretty clear picture of doom. He had never doubted that the team would be looking for them, but he couldn't have them flying into a trap, especially if Hydra had a weapon that could take out the team. There would be no stopping them if they succeeded.

Steve began to pace; it helped him think and maybe, just maybe, he could come up with something that would help him warn the team; his recent track record didn't exactly inspire confidence. He didn't get very far before the rusted door swung open and the commander that had marched the two prisoners from the cave to the base entered. They locked eyes, trying to size one another up; neither one succeeded in intimidating the other.

"Where's Hawkeye?" demanded Rogers, his hands gripped around the bars of the cell with a force he'd rather be applying to the man's neck.

"Your friend was most unwilling to have a civil conversation with me. It was very disappointing after all we've done for him," replied the commander in a tone of mock disappointment.

A sceptical frown warped the blonde's features. "And just what did you do for him?"

An evil smirk flashed across the Hydra leader's face. "Poor thing was half frozen and mangled, but he didn't seem to appreciate the great lengths we went through to try and save him."

Steve had to fight to remain standing, a cold panic gripping him. The implication that Clint was dead settled heavily in his chest, while the sting of failure caused his stomach to roll.

The commander let out a laugh at the subtle display of distress that swept over his prisoner. He wasn't sure if his hunch had been correct, especially after the brief report he had received about the prisoners' interactions before the plane crashed en route but it looked like he had found a way to get the good Captain to capitulate.

"Ah, the hot tempered ingrate is still alive for now. He just needed some time to cool off."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I think it would be better for both of you if you could talk some sense into your soldier." The commander folded his hands behind his back and began to pace in front of the cell. "I'm not stupid. I know he's more affiliated with SHIELD than you and, therefore, has more information to offer, but, rest assured, I will not hesitate to end him. There are equally enticing opportunities for you as well. "

With a nod, the two guards that had been lurking by the door marched towards the cell, guns at their ready. "Step away from the bars," ordered the first as the second fumbled the key ring clipped to his belt. Steve raised his hands and took a step back; his eyes focused on the key ring, particularly the Swiss army knife attached. It wasn't a thought his mind wandered to often, but visions of ramming the small blade into one of their necks flashed through his brain.

Rogers complied as his hands were pulled in front of him and the four men left the cell. The halls were empty and the doors they passed were shut, hindering Steve's attempts to gather intel on their current location. The only open room was, conveniently, the radio room, which was on full display as they marched past, just out of reach, taunting him with the possibility of warning his friends. When they reached the end of the hall, the commander pulled a key card to swipe across the scanner by the door. The pad beeped and the lock clicked before the older man pushed the door open; he waved his hand, gesturing for Steve to step in first.

The room was dark and Steve had to clench his eyes shut as the lights burst on above him. Harsh light flooded the desolate concrete room. Rogers searched for any sign of Barton, but the room was empty except for himself, the two guards and the commander. "Where's..."

The commander simply pointed to the large screen adorning the wall. It flickered a few times until it filled with the white haze of the landscape outside the complex. The camera went in and out of focus until the dark figure in the middle of the screen took a familiar shape.

"I told you he needed to cool off a bit," taunted the commander.

Steve almost bit through his tongue as he tried to hold back his initial reaction to pummel someone. He had worked so hard to get Barton out of the cold, taken the risk to get them both there and, while he was enjoying the warmth of a cell, they had thrown the archer back out in the cold.

"I suggest you talk some sense in to him. If he tells me what I want to know, he can go back to the infirmary and thaw out, if not..." the commander shrugged as if leaving a man to freeze to death was no more complicated than squishing a bug. "I suggest you put on a jacket, Captain."

The first guard pulled his key ring and began unlocking Steve's restraints while the second held out a thick coat for him. Rogers found himself in motion before he even realized what he was doing. The second the cuffs clicked open he slammed his hand into the first guard's chest, throwing the man backwards. Taking advantage of the second guard's surprise, Steve lunged forward and tackled the guard. They hit the ground with a thud, the guard putting up marginal protest as he tried to catch his breath.

The struggle lasted mere moments before the butt of a rifle came crashing down on the back of Steve's neck. The blow knocked the super soldier over and he rolled onto his hands and knees. His chest heaved and his muscles coiled ready for a second attempt. A second blow came, this time to the side of the Captain's head, leaving him seeing stars.

Blood trickled down the side of Steve's head. He let out a muffled groan as he was hauled roughly to his feet. The two guards had regained their senses. While their grip was tight, Rogers could've shaken them loose if not for the commander, who moved in front of his face.

"I will forgive your transgression once because you had to try, but make another attempt and I will not hesitate to kill you and do unspeakable things to your subordinate." His eyes drilled into his prisoner's until the blond reluctantly nodded his understanding. "Now, you will go out and you will convince Hawkeye to give me all of SHIELD's secrets or he will die. If you try anything, understand that I can neutralize both of you before you make it two steps. Be persuasive, Captain. That young man's life rests in your hands."

Steve was pushed out the door with a hard shove. The harsh wind offered a familiar sting and his lungs burned with a renewed protest to once again being outside. A million thoughts crowded his mind, all fighting for attention; Bucky's voice, plans to escape, his last conversation with Peggy, the Avengers walking into a trap, his own inner voice of doubt, Barton's trust every time he received an order from Captain America over the comms, and it was all too much. It paralyzed him. He rolled the Swiss army knife he'd relieved from the second guard over in his pocket. It felt heavy.

Unsure what to do, how he could possibly turn this situation around so everyone survived, he did the only thing available to him at the moment; he took a step forward, then another and another until he was in front of Clint. The smaller man was on his knees, his wrists chained to a metal ring in the ground; his trembling was visible from several feet away. His head was bowed and he had curled himself into as compact a ball as possible to try and retain any warmth he could. Steve kneeled down in front of Barton, but the archer gave no indication that he was even aware that he was no longer alone. The violent shivering, pale skin and blue tinge to his lips and fingers struck deep at Rogers' soul

"Y-you kn-know the w-wors-t par-t, Cap?" His voice was barely louder than the chatter of his teeth. "They w-warmed me u-up be-fore they th-threw me b-back out here. Sssseems crueller, somehow, you know?"

Steve reached out and placed a hand on Clint's shoulder. Even the fabric of the sweatshirt they dressed Hawkeye in felt terribly cold; it was certainly too thin to offer any relief from the elements. Tilting his head to the side, Barton's gaze followed the jacket clad arm until he locked eyes with the blond. "Huh."

The revelation in Clint's eyes as the agent pieced together the situation hurt as much as the guilt Steve felt that there was anything to have a revelation about. There was no condemnation aimed at Rogers for having something as simple and longed for as a warm coat or the fact that the enemy clearly deemed the Captain more valuable, only acceptance that this is what the universe wanted.

"You come to talk s-some sense into m-me?" asked Clint.

"Would it do any good?"

"N-not gonna betray SH-SHIELD."

"I didn't think that you would, Barton, but... no one would blame you if you gave them something," offered Steve. His voice came out smoother than he thought he was capable at the moment.

"I'd bl-blame me."

The howl of the wind filled the silence that settled between them.

Steve could feel the pocket knife burning a hole in his jacket, feel the commander's warning tumbling around in his head. "They have a new type of missile and they're planning on using it against the team when they show up to rescue us. From what I heard, it's non-detectable. The team won't stand a chance."

"C-can't let them use it. Have... have to warn the team, Cap." Clint locked eyes with Steve; he could hear everything the Captain wasn't saying. The only thing he could do now was offer his blessing and forgiveness. "F-four ver-versus one, you have to do it."

Rogers wanted to crawl into a corner and close his eyes until the world disappeared. It was decision time, despite the unfairness of having to choose between one teammate and four, it was his job as team leader to make the call. Steve wanted to be selfish and demand that Clint get angry, that the archer, who seemed to have an unending amount of faith in the initiative, scream and yell at Rogers for failing him, not offer him absolution and understanding.

"I'm sorry, Clint; I can't save you and get to the radio to warn the team."

"Gotta do it, Cap. Good luck." Clint let his chin rest against his chest. He didn't want the last thing he saw to be that heartbreaking look Steve got when he realized the world was unfair and that, no matter how hard he tried, sometimes the good guys just got screwed. Captain America would get through this, though he wasn't sure Steve Rogers was going to be able to as well.

Steve's strong hand wrapped around Barton's trembling one and gave it a supportive squeeze before he got to his feet. He trudged back to the door, fighting the desire to run back and snap the chains holding his friend with every step. He'd made the call and he was going to have to live with the consequences of that decision for the rest of his life.

The door to the complex clicked shut as Steve disappeared behind it. He knew Steve would save the team, either warn them so Tony could figure out how to detect the missiles or stop Hydra from using them. Rogers was Captain America after all; he always saved the day.

Clint clenched the pocket knife Steve slipped him, in his cold numb fingers.


	8. Chapter 8

Darkness was starting to spread across the vast white blanket covering the land. The small but important pocket knife fell into the snow once again as Barton's numb fingers fumbled with it. He let out a frustrated sigh between chattering teeth and dug through the snow until he latched onto the knife again. He had picked every type of lock imaginable under a vast array of circumstances, but this was by far the most challenging. His own body was betraying him, failing to respond to simple commands and contort his fingers in what should have been familiar patterns.

Clint had proven himself many times over the years; shown something in himself that Coulson believed in, earned Fury's faith in him and secured Natasha's loyalty and trust. The Avengers trusted him to have their backs and, considering recent events, the archer had proven he deserved his spot on the team by sheer determination alone. Despite it all, it was still a daily challenge to prove to himself that he had the right to stand alongside superheroes, to go round for round with extraordinary people that had powers and moral righteousness he never had to start with. This challenge was compounded by the sudden faith Captain America had just put in him.

Steve had made it a point to try and catch Hawkeye every time he fell, even though Clint always managed to have a way out. Rogers believed Clint could save himself while the good Captain worked to save the team; it was the first time the leader of the Avengers had put such faith in the archer and Barton couldn't allow himself to fail. Not only would it mean his death, but Steve would forever be saddled with the guilt of leaving Clint to such a fate. The man already had so much on his shoulders; he shouldn't have to carry Barton's failures as well.

With an almost impossible level of concentration, Clint continued to twist the knife in the lock, fighting hard to keep from trembling and giving into the darkness that hovered on the outskirts of his vision. He would get himself out of this. Steve was depending on him.

* * *

Steve leaned against the door after it locked shut, his legs suddenly unable to support him. He was rapidly starting to regret his decision to leave Hawkeye to fend for himself. What if he was too far gone from hypothermia to understand what Rogers was getting at? What if he couldn't free himself? What if the guards killed him before he got back inside? The possibilities were dizzying. He closed his eyes and sucked in a steadying breath. Clint was a highly trained SHIELD agent. He didn't need a babysitter. Steve had to believe that the man could pull off the impossible so he could warn the team about what was coming their way.

"It doesn't look like you were successful, Captain Rogers," gloated the commander.

Steve glared with a hatred he didn't think he possessed. If everyone didn't walk away from this unharmed, there would be no one that could pull him off the commander once he got a hold of him. It was a promise that both men seemed to recognize.

"Perhaps you'd like to share some of your deepest darkest secrets in an attempt to earn the release of your misguided friend out there?" The temptation to give them one of SHIELD's less important secrets nagged at the back of his mind. He could save his friend. Yet he knew that saying anything would be as big a betrayal to Clint as letting the archer die. Pooling his strength, he managed to keep silent. The commander smirked. "Very well, some time alone in your cell to think things over might loosen your lips."

The two guards didn't waste any time, grabbing him by the elbows and forcing him back towards the hall. "I'd think quickly, Captain. Just because they were able to bring you back from a frozen death, doesn't mean we'll be able to do the same for him. The gamble is yours."

As Steve felt himself dragged out of the room, he couldn't help but think just how much of a gamble he was taking. The burden of command had become a physical thing. It was wrapped around his neck, strangling him. Somewhere along the way, the weight had become too much, the body count too heavy to drag around with him.

Before Steve could get a handle on the combination of anger and panic, he found his fist connecting to the side of one of the guard's heads. The moves had long since become familiar, almost nothing more than muscle memory; the coil of muscles, the jarring impact as his fist hit flesh and bone were all common place. In a matter of minutes aided by a renewed determination, Rogers had knocked out both guards as well as the five less threatening Hydra members in the communications room.

His pulse thrummed underneath his skin and his chest heaved with the effort to suck in air. All the brightly colored buttons on the control panel before Steve blurred together and the painful feeling of inadequacy smothered him. This was what he had sacrificed Barton for, a chance to warn the team, and now, standing in front of a technological marvel of the twenty-first century, Steve wasn't sure _he_ could do it.

A shaky breath left his lips. Banner had faced his inner demons and came back to join the team. Thor put aside family loyalty to stand up for what was right and just. Natasha fought everyday to atone for the wrongs she had done. Clint constantly fought for redemption and Tony Stark, the most self-centered person Rogers had ever met, put all his arrogance aside to sacrifice himself for the world. If they could do all that, surely he could live up to all their expectations and be Captain America, if only for a moment.

Hesitantly, he reached out towards the control panel and, utilising every scrap of information Stark and Banner ever thought to impart upon him, started pressing buttons. Maybe it was his naivety or maybe Tony had been exaggerating the complexity of computer systems, but the computer program was surprisingly easy to navigate. Within minutes, an operation window controlling communications popped up.

Cautious fingers typed in the Avengers' emergency frequency, and Rogers held his breath as he waited to either be connected with the team or have the console blow up.

"Captain?"

Steve looked up to see a frowning Tony Stark staring back at him from the small window on the computer, and wasn't that the most beautiful sight in the world. The tension and fear that had coiled its way around the Captain's insides released; it was reassuring just being in contact with the team, calming him down. Steve silently vowed never to tell Tony that.

"You know next time you and Bird Boy want to go joyriding with friends you really should give us a heads up. You're out past curfew mister…" lectured Stark, but Natasha pushed him out of the way to position herself in front of the camera.

Ignoring Iron Man's muffled protests behind her, she asked, "Are you two alright? We're fifteen minutes out from your location."

Cowardice killed the words before he could voice them; how could he tell her that he'd probably left Clint to die? "Listen to me, you're all in danger. Hydra has developed a new type of missile and they claim you'll never see it coming." He could hear Tony scoff in the background and Natasha rolled her eyes as the billionaire continued to grumble. "Check your ego for a moment, Stark. They seemed pretty confident that they could take you guys out with it."

The lighting in the Quinjet changed as alarms started flashing. Steve could feel the change in mood as if he were there with them. "What's happening?"

Romanoff's fingers flew over the control. She turned just as Steve caught a flash of red metal behind her. "Stark?!" Her voice held a note of concern despite her cool demeanour.

"I got this," replied Iron Man before the screen went fuzzy and hissed with the sound of static. Just like that, his tentative connection with the team was lost and all that filled the empty room was worry and fear for their safety.

A loud bang shook the complex, the floor rolling underneath Steve's feet and the roar of fire ringing in his ears. The sudden motion flung him forward. His head connected with the edge of the consol with a resounding thud. His last thought before the blackness smothered him was that he had let the team down.

* * *

A pesky, repetitive beeping was burrowing itself deep into Steve's brain. It drowned out everything, a beacon in a sea of turmoil and disconcerting nothingness. He felt heavy, sore, and it took far more effort than it ever should just open his eyes. His hand ghosted over a thick comforter, the cream and faded brown a welcoming sight. Afternoon sunlight flooded the room through large windows. Rogers could just make out the sleek silhouette of Natasha standing in front of them.

His heart skipped a beat as his chest tightened. Eyes stinging with the promise of tears, Rogers sucked in a shuddering breath. If the Black Widow was standing in his room instead of Barton's after such a disastrous mission, it could only mean…

"He's alive," she said before turning and sashaying towards him. She sat down in the nearby chair with a fluidity most dancers would envy and turned off the heart monitor. Her jade eyes pierced all the way to his soul as a thousand questions danced on his lips. After a moment of silence she took pity on him. "You were right about the missile. They did develop a new form of stealth technology, but you know Tony, never one to be out done. He was able to take it out. He and Bruce are in the lab right now going over the research for the technology."

"Natasha…" The pleading whisper gave a vulnerability to Steve that she had never seen before.

Romanoff continued, "That explosion helped distract them long enough for Stark to take out the missile and for us to land the jet."

He remembered feeling the blast before everything went black, but he had no idea what caused it. His brow creased. "What explosion?"

"It was Barton. He got into their generator room and worked his magic. Don't know how he managed it though. Hypothermia had set in pretty good. When Thor finally found him he was hiding in the hanger. Took some impressive manhandling to get him out of his hiding spot, but Thor can be surprisingly… gentle." A smile tugged at her lips.

"Why would Barton hide from you?"

"Terminal burrowing." Natasha paused to consider how close she came to losing Clint. "People suffering from late stages of hypothermia often experience what's referred to as hide and die syndrome. They seek out confined places to try and protect themselves."

Steve's stomach bottomed out and he had to swallow back the guilt. He could see the remnants of fear that Natasha had felt upon finding the archer half dead, a position he had put both of them in. Bracing himself for whatever retaliation Romanoff would visit upon him, he confessed, "I left him to die there."

They stared at each other, neither moving a muscle. Steve could see where her reputation came from. Her lack of response was frightening.

"I know." Her voice was soft and exonerating. "You played the odds and had faith that Barton could look out for himself. He's going to be fine; medical is already taking about releasing him and everyone else walked away. You did the right thing under the circumstances, Steve."

"It doesn't feel like it."

"He looks up to you, you know. He'd never say it, but it's true. Hell, he even looks up to Tony, if you can believe that." Natasha let out a snort at the idea herself.

It felt like a new cut, a slap across the face, to learn that, after everything he'd let Clint suffer, the man looked up to him like some goddamn hero. He certainly hadn't done anything heroic during their last fiasco and he couldn't recall doing anything noteworthy for the archer ever. "Why?"

"Because you have the strength to do what's right. He and I… we haven't always been able to do the right thing. Phil wasn't the only one that idolized you. Not that Barton has a collection of Captain America memorabilia anywhere or anything but… I saw the look he would get when Phil used to talk about you and all the things you did. Phil would tell your stories and Clint would get this glint in his eye, that envious, when-I-grow-up-I-want-to-be-like-that look." Romanoff glanced away for a moment at the mention of their handler. The memories were still too painful to think about, even if they were happy memories. "You need to have more faith in yourself, Steve. Trust your judgement. We all do."

Natasha reached over and placed her hand in his much larger one. She exuded a warmth and trust that Steve couldn't remember seeing before. A piece of cold metal slipped into his hand. It took moment to realize that she had slipped him a key.

"Stark has a cabin up state. Nice and quiet, a great place to get away from it all for a while and get perspective on things. We've been going nonstop since Loki and we think a change of scenery could do you some good. Take a week, get out of this mad house, get some fresh air and sing kumbaya around a fire or whatever it is you do in your spare time. You'll see that I'm right." With that, she got up and left him alone, the weight of the key heavy in his hand.

Steve's sigh echoed in the room. Maybe Natasha was right and a break would make things clearer. He couldn't shake the guilt about Barton but he had been right. The archer not only got himself out, but also created a diversion that saved the team. They shut down another one of Hydra's bases and now had the stealth technology research Hydra had been developing; the last mission was firmly in the win column. Steve had watched the other Avengers come to terms with some of their demons. Perhaps he should give serious thought to burying some of his.

His finger tightened around the key. He was going to do it. He owed it to the team to put his faith in the people who deserved it. After all, the past belonged in the past and he had the future to look to now.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you to everyone who read this story. 
> 
> Many thanks to Red Aurora for all their tremendous beta work on this story.


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